


Collision Course

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: Ladies Bingo 2020 [19]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/F, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, POV Claire Temple, Season/Series 01, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:22:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29724132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Unexpectedly, as Karen crosses over to her desk, a voice drifts out from the dark. Claire barely hears the footsteps that follow the voice, because she’s glued to the spot by the fact that sheknowsthat voice. She knows that voice very, very well.“Karen? Is that you?”This can’t be happening. Hell’s Kitchen is small, but it can’t bethissmall.
Relationships: Karen Page/Claire Temple
Series: Ladies Bingo 2020 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956031
Kudos: 2
Collections: Ladies Bingo 2020





	Collision Course

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 'an ethical dilemma' square on my [Ladies Bingo 2020](https://ladiesbingo.dreamwidth.org/) bingo card! takes place during season 1 of Daredevil.

“Karen? Are you still with me?” 

Karen, who has been staring out the window for the last minute, idly chewing on a hangnail and intermittently nodding during Claire’s story of a ludicrous thing that happened at work this week, snaps back around to face Claire. Her eyes are wide and underscored by lavender colored bags, and even in the washed-out lighting of the diner, her skin looks shockingly pale. 

“Yeah,” she responds, shaking her head slightly, long hair brushing back and forth against her shoulders. She clears her throat. “Sorry. Just… thought I saw someone I knew out there.” As her lips curl up into a smile, she reaches across the table and takes Claire’s hand. “Can you rewind a bit?” 

“Sure.” As Claire starts the story again, she brushes her thumb against Karen’s and carefully looks her girlfriend over. It’s possible that she’s telling the truth – New York may be huge, but it’s amazing how often you run into someone you know just strolling down the sidewalk – but merely seeing someone she recognized wouldn’t account for the nervous energy Claire can feel beneath Karen’s skin, for the nibbling of her hangnail and the way her smile, radiant though it may be, doesn’t reach her eyes. 

It’s not the first time something like this has happened. They’ve only been dating for three months, which has been marred by time spent apart – a week early on, where Karen had said she needed to go see her family and hadn’t texted Claire for days, followed by another week where the threat of the Russians had Claire laying low with an excuse about a sick friend she was looking after - but in the time that they _have_ been together, more often than not, Karen has seemed occupied by _something_. While she’s dropped tiny tidbits of information here and there about her previous job at Union Allied and some cases that the law firm she works at have taken on, those don’t explain the way she drops out sometimes, the way her spine straightens and her breathing freezes, the way her head whips around when they’re walking together. There’s something else lingering beneath the surface, something big that Claire can’t even begin to guess at the shape of. 

It’s probably a little hypocritical of her to call Karen out on it, considering her own secrets, but the fact remains that, whatever Karen is holding onto, it’s slowly but steadily eating away at her, and if something isn’t done about it, she’ll be riddled with holes that all the stitches in the world won’t be able to patch up. 

After Claire finishes her story for the second time (this time around, Karen actually laughs in the appropriate spots), their dinner arrives, and they fall into small talk, punctuated by cutlery striking their plates and the slurp of condiments reluctantly emerging from their bottles. While most of Claire is focused on the food (it may just be greasy diner fare, home fries and crispy bacon, scrambled eggs and slightly burned toast, but it’s still a hell of a lot better than what passes for dinner when she’s on shift, usually a handful of vending machine snacks crammed into her mouth whenever she has a spare moment), she still keeps a watchful eye on Karen as they eat. She doesn’t stare out the window again, but her eyes keep darting in that direction, and at one point, her fingers tighten around her fork so hard that her knuckles stand out in points of white. Before Claire can say anything, Karen’s fingers slacken, and she leans over and snatches up one of Claire’s home fries. 

After that, Claire is so focused on returning the favor by stealing one of Karen’s strips of bacon that she sets the topic aside for the time being. 

However, by the time their plates are empty of all but congealed stripes of yellow egg yolk and smears of ketchup, as Claire swallows her last gulp of lukewarm coffee, she can’t help but return to it. She doesn’t want to taint what has been a mostly nice date (Karen’s temporary absences aside), but if she doesn’t try to reach out, she’s going to feel like an asshole for the rest of the night. 

Even if Karen doesn’t want to open up here (understandable, seeing as how the place is crammed with people, every booth and stool along the counter filled), she’ll feel better if she tries. 

“Is everything alright?” she asks, setting her mug onto the table and stretching her hand across the space between them. She doesn’t quite touch Karen’s hand; she leaves her fingertips a hairsbreadth away. “You’ve been distant tonight.” 

“I’m sorry.” Karen visibly deflates, slumps back against the vinyl seat. “It’s just… work has been hell, lately. Not like, Union Allied hell, so at least that’s something, but… feels like we’re in way over our heads with this new case we took on. I wish I could tell you more but, well, you know. The whole confidentiality thing.” 

“I get it. But if there’s anything I can do to help, you’ll let me know, right?”

Karen nods vigorously and flashes a smile to the server as they drop the check off and take their plates. Claire tries to grab it, but Karen beats her to it, seizes the piece of paper between her fingernails and starts to paw through her purse with her free hand. After a few seconds, a frown creases her lips, and she whispers _fuck_ under her breath. 

“Don’t suppose it’s too early to take you up on that offer, is it?” she sighs, placing the check back on the table. “I must have left my wallet in my desk.” 

“I don’t know,” Claire teases, grabbing the check and glancing at the total, which comes to less than twenty dollars. “You’re an expensive date, ma’am.” 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Karen replies. “If you’re willing to walk back to the office with me first, I can pick up wine for tonight.” 

“Works for me,” Claire says, fishing some bills out of her purse and placing them on top of the check. “But only if we grab dessert too.” 

Karen beams at her and squeezes Claire’s hand tightly. 

“Deal.” 

&.

As much as she’d like to get on with their evening, leaving the diner’s air conditioning behind them is one of the harder things Claire has ever had to do. 

While the sun is no longer high in the sky, it hasn’t set yet, and the heat of the day has barely started to dissipate. The air is thick with the smells of traffic fumes and fetid garbage piled along the curbs, and the sidewalks are packed with locals and tourists that have wandered over from Times Square, all of them sweating. Even in her khaki shorts and tank top, the heat feels like a suit of armor weighing Claire down. She can only imagine how it’s affecting Karen, in her blouse and pencil skirt. 

(Not that she doesn’t appreciate how Karen looks in said outfit, but still, knowing how uncomfortable she must be makes it hard for Claire to enjoy the view.) 

Thankfully, the building where Karen works is only a few blocks away, and aside from the sweltering temperature, the walk is uneventful. The three story building is incredibly non-descript, blends right into the surroundings. There’s a metal-grated door set back from the sidewalk, leading inside. Rather than immediately heading in, Karen pauses with her hand on the doorknob and looks back over her shoulder at Claire. 

“Do you want to come in?” she asks. “My bosses work ridiculous hours, so they might still be here. I don’t mind if you meet them, but if you think it’s weird or awkward or if we’re not at that point yet, that’s okay. I should only be a few minutes.” 

Claire understands where Karen is coming from, but based on the stories that Karen has told her about her bosses, she doesn’t think that she has to worry about being on her best behavior, doesn’t have to be concerned with the fact she’s not exactly dressed in appropriate law firm attire. 

Besides, it’s only for a few minutes, at most, and that’s if either of them are even in the office. 

“Does your office have air conditioning?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. Based on the age of the building and how cheap the rent is (according to Karen), she suspects that she already knows the answer, but nothing wrong with hoping. 

“I wish,” Karen snorts. “We do have some old fans though? They don’t do much, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Still better than being out here,” Claire replies. “I’ll come in. Besides, if I wait out here, your bosses might drag you back to work, and you’ll forget all about me.” She doesn’t mean it as anything more than a teasing remark, but Karen pauses midway through opening the door and looks at Claire with such an open, pained expression that Claire wants to do nothing more than pull her into a hug, sweat be damned. 

“That’s never going to happen,” Karen says quietly, her voice barely audible over the myriad of street sounds. Before Claire can respond, Karen’s expression shifts into a smile, and she fully opens the door. “Come on. I’ll be quick.”

&.

The law office is on the second floor, and on their way up the stairs and down the short hallway, they don’t see another soul. Their footsteps echo eerily, and even though the air is stale and hot, a shiver still goes down Claire’s spine as they approach Karen’s office, the only one they’ve passed so far that still has the lights on. There’s a cardboard sign taped crookedly to the door, _Nelson & Murdock_ scrawled in permanent marker, and Claire can’t help but quirk an eyebrow and gently prod it as Karen reaches for the doorknob.

Laughing self-consciously, Karen says, “Told you that we were still getting things up and running around here. If it wasn’t for me, they probably wouldn’t even have a secretary yet.” With that, she lets herself in, and Claire follows, after taking a second to straighten the sign out the best that she can. 

The place _definitely_ looks like a work in progress, more of a bachelor pad than an actual law firm. Aside from the desk that she assumes to be Karen’s, the aforementioned fans and some office equipment (including a Stone Age era fax machine), there is no furniture in the main room. Plenty of cardboard boxes are pushed up against the walls in precarious stacks, and she can see dust motes swarming through the air. A half open door on the right side of the room leads into a darkened office, and unexpectedly, as Karen crosses over to her desk, a voice drifts out from the dark. Claire barely hears the footsteps that follow the voice, because she’s glued to the spot by the fact that she _knows_ that voice. She knows that voice very, very well. 

“Karen? Is that you?” 

This can’t be happening. Hell’s Kitchen is small, but it can’t be _this_ small. 

And yet, as the office door creaks fully open and the owner of the voice steps out into the main room, she knows that this is not a hallucination brought on by heatstroke. The man standing in the doorway is wearing a white button-up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark suit pants, and a pair of sunglasses with dark red lenses, and at first glance, there doesn’t appear to be a cut or bruise on him. Nevertheless, this is the man that she’s stitched up no fewer than a dozen times now, the man who, two weeks ago, she decided that, for her own sanity, she had to stop helping, the man who she saved from expiring in a dumpster. 

While every single one of her instincts is begging for her to flee, based on the way his face is turning towards her and his fingers are curling tightly around the doorframe, it’s too late for that. 

“Yeah, Matt, it’s me,” Karen replies, opening up the top drawer of her desk and letting out a quiet, triumphant _a-ha_ as she stands up, wallet in hand. “Just forgot something.”

“Ah.” He sounds remarkably unaffected, but he’s still gripping the door frame, and his face is still pointed in Claire’s direction. “There’s someone else here too.” 

“Yes, there is.” After safely tucking her wallet into her purse, Karen waves Claire over, and it takes all of Claire’s willpower to take the dozen steps to Karen’s side. Karen threads their fingers together and continues, “This is my girlfriend, Claire. Claire, this is Matt, my boss.” 

“I’m the Murdock in Nelson and Murdock,” Matt says, lips curling into a faint smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Claire.” 

Claire manages to push out the words, “You too,” without choking on them, but it takes a tremendous amount of effort. While she’s sure that, knowing Matt, he’s probably going through some Catholic guilt tinged inner turmoil, on the outside, he looks almost completely unruffled. She’s sure that it is a skill that he has cultivated over many years, but that doesn’t make her any less jealous of his composure. Even the two words that she’s said to him have been enough to make her sweat harder. If this interaction continues for any real length of time, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to keep her game face on. 

Thankfully, Karen comes to her rescue. 

“Well, we have a bottle of wine to buy,” she says, squeezing Claire’s hand. “And you should go home soon too. Get some rest.” 

“Just finishing up a few things first, and then I’ll be on my way,” Matt says. Turning slightly to face Claire, he says, “Come by again sometime. I’d love to take you and Karen out to dinner. On the firm’s dime.” 

Claire can’t imagine a situation she would rather sit through less, but she manages to say, “Sounds great,” after swallowing heavily. With that, Matt pats the doorframe and heads back into his dark office, and Karen heads towards the door, asking what kind of wine Claire is feeling. Forced by their still-linked hands to follow, Claire manages to throw out some kind of answer that must make sense, based on the way Karen nods. Considering that her mind is still firmly back in the office, staring at Matt’s retreating back, the fact she is able to say _anything_ is nothing less than a minor miracle. 

Somehow, she manages to make it through the next hour, through their wine shopping and the walk back to her apartment, on autopilot. The entire time, as she goes through the motions, discounting one wine based on its boring label and plotting out a detour when there’s a car accident on one of the streets leading back to hers, her mind remains in the office, stuck in the place where the two spheres of her life, the two spheres that she has been trying so damn hard to keep apart, have forcibly collided. 

In an ideal world, she would simply never interact with Matt again. Done and dusted. Since she’s already extricated herself from sewing him up, she would just have to keep away from him during the daylight hours, come up with excuses to not meet Karen at her office, not take him up on his dinner offer. She would just… stay away. 

But she knows that, unless her and Karen go kaput in the next few days (which, new complications or not, she _really_ hopes doesn’t happen), that won’t be possible. She’s good at lying, to a limited degree, but there’s only so long she’ll be able to make excuses before she’ll have to make the choice between making things awkward for Karen and keeping her life firmly compartmentalized. 

Alternatively, she could come clean. She could spill her guts, tell Karen the truth about the week where she was hiding from the Russians, about the times where, instead of having to cover a night shift, she had been stitching Matt up yet again. She could tell Karen about what her boss does during the night, reveal the real reason why he comes into the office busted up and bruised. She could be honest. She could lay herself bare and hope for the best. 

But while that would unburden her, while it would relieve some of the weight she’s been carrying on her shoulders, it wouldn’t get _rid_ of the weight. It would only transfer it to Karen. And while she doesn’t know exactly what Karen is carrying right now, she knows that there’s _something_ weighing her down, making her jumpy and skittish, something that clearly lingers in the back of her mind day in and day out, no matter how hard Claire tries to distract her. 

She doesn’t need anything extra to carry. Not right now, at least. Maybe in the future, when she seems lighter, when she’s not so distracted, Claire will break the news to her. Maybe they’ll sit down in the diner, in a safe public place, and Claire will tell her the full story, from cover to cover. She’ll strip herself raw and hope that Karen still likes the real Claire, the one underneath it all. 

But for now, she’ll have to rely on a skill she’s been exercising more and more the last few months. 

So, when they’re sitting on her couch later that night, wineglasses full, barely paying attention to a documentary, when Karen turns to her and if she’s okay, Claire doesn’t say a thing about Matt. Instead, she picks up her glass, takes a large swallow, and smiles, feeling the wine slicking the inside of her mouth. 

It tastes bitter. 

“Yeah,” she answers, pressing a kiss to the corner of Karen’s soft mouth. “I’m fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
